“Selfish,” she said. “Selfish as always.” She said this, still dangling her keys, which wasn’t selfish, I guess. She lost the weight, and I’m sure she paid in cash, just like most Libertarians. Actually, most Libertarians switch their cash to gold coins, like trolls under a bridge, keep them in lockboxes, preparing for the failure of the banking system.
“I’m giving him a ride,” I said. “I’ve been doing it for two years. That’s not selfish. I’m like helping a disadvantaged youth.”
“I gave the car to Janelle,” she said. “Now you can stop pretending to be a martyr.”
“Janelle doesn’t know how to drive,” I said. “Janelle doesn’t even know how to use a can opener.” This was true. She was frightened of the sharp edges of the lids, always had been. She only bought the cans with pull tabs, or she left the unopened cans on the counter for David and me.
“You were never very good at spying,” she said. “Nearsighted. You only see what you want to see. David has been busting his ass, and you haven’t even noticed.”
I thought my mom might be taking diet pills again. It would explain hitting the goal weight, and would explain why she was talking nonsense. I knew how to talk to her on diet pills. I spent seventh grade talking to my mother like a baby. “Okay,” I said. “You’re right. David works very hard. That balloon was very thoughtful.”
“He’s in Fortune right now,” she said. “Taking his driver’s exam. Waterbed Fred is his responsible adult. They’ve been practicing. It’s actually very adorable.”
“I’m glad he has a ride to the allergist,” I said. “But I still don’t understand why you gave them the car. Go ahead and call me selfish, but I kind of thought you would give the car to me.”
“Fat chance,” she said. “The last thing you need is a getaway vehicle.”
“You let me drive David all the time.”
“David is responsible. David would not let you abscond to Washington or Idaho or Oregon. I know how your mind works.”
“Jesus. If I was going to abscond, I would get the hell out of the northwest. Give me some credit. I’d probably go to Detroit or something.” I wanted to tell my mother that I had over twenty thousand dollars in drug money. Leaving would not be a problem.
“That sounds about right,” she said. “David needed the car. You did not. For him, it’s a matter of life and death.”
“He’s allergic to pollen,” I said. “Most people can just take a Benadryl. And if you haven’t noticed, we only have pollen for five months. He doesn’t need shots during the winter. That’s like seven months of pointless injections. His allergist just wants the money.”
“It’s charity,” she said. “But I wouldn’t expect you to understand something like that.”
“I thought charity began at home,” I said. “That’s the saying.”
“Save the Bible-thumping for your idiot brother,” she said. “I’m going to be charitable tonight, so save your high horse. I’m getting pizza, and Waterbed Fred is going to bring some forks. Real forks. There you go.”
“You’re going to eat pizza?”
“Of course not. But it’s a date, and I’m not going to make him eat a Lean Cuisine.”
“You have a date with Waterbed Fred?”
“I believe he’s courting me. Unfortunately, you’ll be there, too.”
* * *
* * *
AS PROMISED, THE COURTSHIP INVOLVED real silverware, and it was pointless. Not the courtship, but the silverware, because Waterbed Fred and I used our hands to hold our slices. My mother wore a new outfit, black of course, but the neckline dipped lower than usual, and I could see the edge of a black lace bra, which was also new. I did the laundry, so I knew these things.
My mother ate nothing, watched us devour the pizza, and chattered on and on about her new car, and then property taxes, and finally, launched into the familiar speech in which she pontificated on campaign finance reform. She was absolutely terrible at flirting.
I picked up Waterbed Fred’s plate, and the two forks, and walked to the kitchen sink. I was planning on washing the dishes, but my mother stopped me.
“Give me those forks,” she said. I returned to the kitchen table, and deposited them into her waiting hand. When she tried to hand them to Waterbed Fred, he finally spoke.
“Vy, I think she’s been punished enough.”
“Oh, really?”
“I know it’s not my place, but I don’t think she’s a menace anymore.”
“It’s not your place. You can take your forks, and you can leave.”
Waterbed Fred looked at me, and I shook my head. I didn’t want to be the reason this date went badly, because I knew I would be blamed for it for the rest of my life. I hoped Waterbed Fred would turn this around, maybe stand up from the table and launch into “Abilene.”
Instead, he reached across the table and touched my mother’s hand. “I should’ve brought flowers,” he said.
“Yes,” said my mother.
“David passed his test,” he said. This was a good way to redirect. “It was the craziest thing. The written part, no problem. But then he went out for the driving test. They couldn’t find more than one car on any street in Fortune. Maybe there’s a quilt show or something. So the teacher told him to imaginary parallel park. He told David, pretend there’s a car right there.”
“That boy has an impressive imagination,” said my mother.
“I’ll say. The whole way down to Fortune, he was freaking out about the parallel parking, but then he did it perfectly.”
“I’m glad it worked out for him,” I said, and of course I didn’t mean it, but I was trying to calm the room. I carefully washed the plates, and put them in the drying rack, and exited the kitchen as soon as I could. I wasn’t afraid that they would start kissing—that was not my mother’s style. I knew Waterbed Fred would have to work up to that. My mother made people earn things, so it hurt even more when she took them away.
Chapter Twenty-Four
SCHOOL STARTED, AND I WAS now a junior, but nothing had changed. My summer with Bitsy and the cheerleaders did not make me popular. To most kids, I was still just a juvenile delinquent.
On September 19, I walked into Mr. Francine’s office and stared at the empty chairs. TJ’s plan had worked, apparently. At least Rufus was still on probation. He was in with Kelly, and I was sure of that, because of the smell he left behind.
Kelly listened to me complain about the car. I have to admit, she was good at her job. Her face was completely passive as I unleashed my tale of woe. I told her about Christmas, how I had to deliver a present to him every year, immaculately wrapped, ordered from Spokane. Ronnie and I got presents from Shopko. Not David. Every November, my mom made sure I was around when she ordered his gifts on the phone, read her credit card number extra loud.
“She gives David everything,” I said.
“I don’t know your mother,” said Kelly. “I only know what you’ve told me.”
“I told you the truth,” I said. To prove it, I removed my pages from my backpack, and arranged them carefully in front of her. “You don’t know what it’s like. My father was the only one who thought about me. I never got attention from anybody else. David gets presents. Even Ronnie got picked for something special, even though it was by God.”
“Your mom is a difficult person,” admitted Kelly. “But you’re going to run into difficult people for the rest of your life.”
“I used to have my dad,” I said. “I didn’t mind being at home.”
“And what do you think your dad would want?”
I really didn’t know the answer. My dad helped people. When I volunteered at the food bank, I didn’t mind the work, because it made him so happy. “My dad would want me to leave people alone,” I said. “Unless they asked for help.”
“So why do you think you started spying?
Why did you take notes?”
“Somebody had to,” I said. Kelly waited for me to continue. She was in no hurry. She took a sip of water. I couldn’t stand the silence. “I wanted to keep track of people, I guess.”
“You care about people,” she said. I didn’t want to correct her. “That’s a good thing. After the Sweet boys, I don’t want to work with any more psychopaths. There’s too much paperwork.”
“I’m not a psychopath. I’m not even a sociopath,” I said. “I guess I’m just afraid some people will get lost, and nobody will notice.”
“There’s nine hundred people in this town, Tiffany. I don’t think getting lost is a possibility.”
“You’d be surprised,” I said. I thought of my dad. It seemed strange that a man so big could get lost.
“Let me ask you again. If your dad were still alive, what would he want you to do?”
“He would want me to apologize. Probably not to my mother, though.”
“Fine,” said Kelly. “Maybe you can work on that.”
“I’m trying,” I said. “But then my mother gives David a car. Some people aren’t worth it.”
“Some people are,” she said. “Especially the people you aren’t related to. You’re stuck with your mom, and you’re going to be doing the sorry dance for the rest of your life.”
“Gross,” I said.
“There is a difference between saying sorry and making things right,” she said. “When you make amends, you promise you won’t continue the behavior. And you prove it. You take action.”
I swallowed hard, thinking about the consequences. “I might end up in jail,” I said. “And there are still a few things I’m afraid to tell you.”
“Tough Tiff,” said Kelly. “Bring her back if you need to.”
“Okay,” I said.
“But no punching,” said Kelly. “And call me from jail.”
She thought this was hilarious. I left her office, and I could still hear her laughing.
* * *
* * *
BITSY PARKED HIS BATTERED TRUCK in the parking lot of Ben Franklin. It was the third week of September, but after the wigs, we knew they had a jump on Halloween.
“I’ll leave the truck running,” he said. It was seventy degrees outside, and the sun blasted all of the Saturday shoppers in the parking lot.
“That’s not necessary,” I said, rolling down my window, the handle loose, threatening to break off in my hand. “I’m not going to get cold or anything.”
“In case you need to make an escape,” he said. I wondered why he had parked so far away, but I realized he was afraid I would be spotted by Lionel. It seemed so long ago. That seemed like a different girl.
“I appreciate it,” I said.
“Remember it’s a clutch,” he said. “I feel weird buying makeup.”
“It’s Halloween,” I said.
“Most of the stuff I need is real makeup. In the women’s section.”
“Take it from me,” I said. “Just act like you belong there, and nobody will give you a second glance.”
“That didn’t work out so well for you,” he said.
* * *
* * *
IN THE BATHROOM OF MY house, Bitsy went to work. I was so glad the bathroom was clean. It was just me and my mom who lived there now, and the days of the Meatloaf peeing everywhere but in the toilet were long past us.
He removed his items from the Ben Franklin bag, and stacked them up along the sink.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I kept the receipt.”
“I don’t think you can bring back used makeup,” I said. “I’m sure Lionel has some sort of policy. Flesh-eating bacteria or whatever.”
“I know David doesn’t want me to touch the faces of the other ladies. It’s embarrassing, but I asked my mom to teach me. It doesn’t matter. David doesn’t trust me. He said that when straight men put makeup on ladies, they always end up looking like clowns.”
“They’re supposed to be prostitutes,” I said. “They were called ‘painted ladies’ for a reason.”
“He warned me,” he repeated. “Specifically about blue eye shadow.” Bitsy’s mom wore blue eye shadow, and sometimes a dark blue mascara, but I didn’t want to say anything.
“Hold still,” he said. “Actually, close your eyes.” I was scared. I saw the bottle of Elmer’s glue in his hand, and it was coming toward my face. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m your boyfriend.”
He unscrewed the orange tip, and dutifully, I closed my eyes. I flinched when he smeared it around my nose. It was cold, and slimy, and he wiped it all around my nostrils. He left the tip of my nose untouched. “Okay. We’ve got to wait for it to dry.”
“Beatrice has dementia,” I said. “Let’s just pray she doesn’t forget why you’re squirting glue all over her face. She might think she’s getting embalmed or something.”
“Pull up your pant leg,” he said. “Miss Aimee has dead legs, but David doesn’t want them to look black.”
“I don’t think her customers would like that, either.” I eased my jeans up over my knee. Bitsy crouched down, and I almost laughed when I saw the plastic package of blue eye shadow. Carefully, he used the tiny wand, and traced lines up and down my shin. “I figure we aren’t going to see her skin unless she crosses her legs, but I want to be thorough.”
I stared down at the lines on my shin. They were too regular, too perfect. It looked like the pin-striping inside David’s favorite blazer, another gift from my mother. “I think the whole shin needs to be blue,” I said. “I’m pretty sure Ruby already has varicose veins.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’m going to have to buy more eye shadow.” He stared at my face, touched my chin, raised my face to the light. I couldn’t help but shiver at his touch. “It’s dry now.” It was true—the glue had hardened. My mother had applied a clay mask to my face last year, because she had spotted a pimple. It felt like that. He reached for a bottle of foundation and struggled with the wrapping.
“I don’t doubt you at all,” I said. “But that shade isn’t even close to my skin color. That’s nearly ivory.”
“It’s the same shade as old ladies. My mother said so.”
He was really taking this seriously. He successfully removed the cap, and began to dab the foundation on the dried glue. On the tip of my nose, more blue eye shadow, and at the very end, he used actual Halloween makeup, a tube of black lipstick. I rose from the toilet and studied myself in the mirror.
“You’re a genius,” I said. My nose was a mess of thickened, scarred skin, ending in a nose that looked completely dead.
“Now for the hard part,” he said. “David doubts me, and wants Miss Joanna just to wear gloves during the whole play.”
“To be fair, women in those days did wear gloves.”
“I like a challenge,” he said.
“Okay,” I said.
“I’m dating you,” he said. “I’m not scared of anything.” He grabbed my hand and began to wrap it in a roll of beige bandage. “Bend your pointer finger and tuck your thumb underneath it.” I watched him wrap my hand and then the remaining three fingers separately. He dabbed more of the blue eye shadow and black lipstick at the end of the stubs. We both stared at his work, and I didn’t need to tell him that it looked like a Civil War wound. My hand was enormous and wrinkled with bandage lines. This would not work for Miss Joanna, unless Miss Julie had plucked her from a circus sideshow.
“Pantyhose,” said Bitsy. I hoped this would be the first and last time I would ever hear that word come out of his mouth. “I’m going to have to go back to Ben Franklin.”
“I hope people start whispering about you. Dating a cross-dresser would be exciting.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
PLAY PRACTICE WAS AT TEN o’clock in the morning. Bitsy walked me from my house, but David ignored
him. He was too fixated on the arrival of the woodstove. We left him inside the Quonset hut, pacing back and forth.
Before I knew it, we were making out by the front door. Another thing I never thought I would do, another type of girl I hated. But there we were, in public, which was bad enough, but I was so wrapped up in it that I didn’t stop when the van pulled up.
As soon as Bitsy saw elderly women, his passion was extinguished. He bolted over the sand hill, leaving me standing there, watching the actresses dismount from the white van. This process usually took five minutes, but today they were brisk and moved with purpose. The horn on the van beeped, and through the fogged windows I stared into the driver’s seat.
Not the nurse. Erika Hickey, with the great legs.
“It’s not theft,” explained Betty Gabrian. “And Erika still has a valid license.”
“It’s theft,” insisted Diana Whipple. “When you take something that doesn’t belong to you, that’s theft.”
“I private pay, my dear.” Betty Gabrian smoothed her hair down around her ears. “The rest of you may use Medicare, but I give them cash. Therefore, I own this van.”
“An eighth of it,” said Diana. “A valid license is one thing, but insurance is another.”
“I got us here just fine,” said Erika.
“The nurse called in sick,” said Betty Gabrian. “Third time in two weeks. I keep track of such things.” I had no doubt about that.
“We think she takes methamphetamines,” announced Diana Whipple. I didn’t know how to respond to that.
“The sub refused to take us,” said Betty Gabrian. “We told her that it was an important rehearsal, but that meant nothing to her.”
“She steals painkillers,” said Erika. “I wouldn’t have trusted her to drive us anyway.”
“I left a note,” said Betty Gabrian. “She probably won’t even notice we’re gone.”
The Small Crimes of Tiffany Templeton Page 18
